


Patrick Stump and the Enchanted Castle

by Kittypatch



Series: Patrick Stump and the Enchanted Castle [1]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Magic, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Blow Jobs, Castles, Cinderella Elements, Humor, Kidnapping, Little Mermaid Elements, M/M, Out of Character, Sasstrick, Witch Curses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-18
Packaged: 2019-01-09 03:21:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12267843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittypatch/pseuds/Kittypatch
Summary: An idiot prince, a trapped hostage, a conniving villain, and one pair of magical, sparkling fingerless gloves. (Fairytale au)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is so silly, I'm sorry lmao

In a large black castle, in the middle of an overgrown and bristling forest, lived Patrick. It hadn’t always been his home. In fact, he’d lived quite a happy life until around eighteen months ago, when he traded his own father’s freedom for his own. It was a long story and not one he was particularly interested in looking back on. Now he lived in the large castle with the beastly Butch, who had entrapped him in the first place. Mostly Patrick stayed out of his way. They had an eternity together, but he hadn't enjoyed the first part.

He was only in Butch’s presence a few hours a day. Usually for dinner, served extravagantly across the large table. He sat opposite Butch, both at either ends of the excessively long table. He ate his soup in silence, eyes flicking to Joe’s candlestick form, peering in from the center of the table. 

“I need you tonight,” Butch said, looking up at Patrick across the table. He’d never quite forgiven Patrick for damning him to an eternity. Patrick, however, refused to take the blame for not falling in love with Butch on the inside or out.

“I’ll be there,” Patrick said, because he had little else to do but lay on his back for a few minutes. It wasn’t pleasant, but it passed the time for a few moments at least. If he didn't like it he would let Butch know, in the most unpleasant, shrill sounding way.

He finished his soup and waited for Butch to leave the table before he made his way to the kitchen. He liked it best down there, with the animated objects that filled the dark halls of the large castle. He sat on one of the marble islands in the kitchen and watched the plates dunk themselves into the soapy water, singing a squeaky song. 

“Patrick! You must make your escape tonight,” Joe said, lumbering up in his candlestick form. Patrick helped him up, holding him lightly around the waist before settling him on the island beside him. “Leave us behind and go back to your father. You’ve nothing to do here now.”

“He will kill me if I leave. My life is a bore, but at least I’m alive,” he said softly, with a heavy sigh. “Butch told me that the last time I tried. It’s not worth the risk.”

“Things will change,” Joe said, his candlelight flickered in anger for three seconds before it doused itself out. “I’m sorry you were ever involved in this.”

“It is what it is,” Patrick shrugged. “Do you think I could have some cake for later?”

“Cake is the best antidote,” Joe agreed. If he wasn’t a candlestick and was a real person, Patrick would hug him so tightly.

Patrick found his way into Butch’s chambers that night and undressed, leaving his clothes on the plush chair in the corner before climbing into the bed and waiting. He didn’t have to wait too long for Butch to come lumbering around the corner. 

Patrick called him a beast for how his skin was pasty with spots of pink, his stubble growing in patches of green, brown and gray. He was aging quickly, unnaturally. He was human, but Patrick’s inability to fall in love with him was bringing out a sickly stature to him. His temper was worse than ever.

Butch never attempted to sleep with him anymore. Instead he sat on the bed beside Patrick's naked body and traced it with a dry, cracked finger. Patrick's body was soft, it shuddered at the touch even if he hated himself for it. Butch's skin was as scaled as a reptilian. He lay there, staring up at the ceiling, and thought back on the past. He’d had a lover back in the village, the butcher’s son. They’d sneak behind the local tavern together; hide out in Patrick’s room when his father was away. Patrick wondered about him, thought about him, as Butch's hands traced over his warm skin. He was probably married to some farm girl now, raising a fat baby together. It was another life ago now. 

“You will never leave this castle, Patrick,” Butch was saying into his ear afterward. His breath was spoiled and spiked with whiskey. Patrick stayed still and didn’t flinch. There was no use in flinching these days, but Butch was always angry after they did this. After he touched real human skin and wished for his own to return.“Upon my death I shall see you rot here. You didn’t save me like you were supposed to.”

“It’s hard to fall in love on demand,” Patrick said, fake whimsical. Nights like this made him as angry as Butch. “I was a bad choice.”

“You were the only choice,” Butch slurred, and then rolled onto his back. “Go back to your rooms now.”

“Goodnight,” Patrick said, grabbing his clothes from the corner and left the room for his own section of the house.

 

Patrick spent most of his time in the dusty warmth of the library. Butch had offered it to him on Patrick’s first confinement to the castle, when he’d traded his freedom for his father’s. Now, Butch rarely entered, knowing it was the only thing that Patrick enjoyed.

“The grounds are looking fine today, Patrick,” Joe said, marching up and down the closest bureau. Patrick looked up from where he was stretched across a chaise lounge, a book sprawled over his lap. He stared at the friendly candlestick before rolling his shoulder. “We could take a stroll.”

“I like it in here,” he said, before going back to his book. He’d read this one before, but he had the rest of his life to read the others. He had time.

“Well I have goods news for you, Patrick.” Joe hopped forward, his candlelight head peering over the top of Patrick’s book. “Excitement for you!”

“Excitement for me? The last time I was excited was when Butch came down with the flu last winter,” Patrick said, smirking when Joe pulled a warning look at him. Or Patrick supposed it was. His mouth did get him into trouble with Butch on occasion. “What excitement befalls me, then?”

“There’s to be a dinner party. The kitchen has been informed to prepare for a sit down dinner for Saturday night.” Patrick swallowed at the thought. There’d been no mention from Butch about this. There’d never been a dinner party here as long as Patrick had lived in the castle. Butch was _not_ a people person from what Patrick had seen.

“Who is coming?” Patrick asked. Butch had no family and little interest in any form of social life.

“He’s a prince. Princes have to be in contact with each other,” Joe said. “A house filled with princes, does that sound like something you’d enjoy?”

Patrick’s only contact with royalty had been via his relationship with Butch. It hadn’t left a great impression on him. “I suppose none could be as ugly as Butch.”

“That mouth of yours, Patrick,” Joe tutted, hobbling away. Patrick wondered what he looked like in human form, he hadn’t known him beforehand. 

Patrick had been convinced to take a light stroll through the gardens that afternoon. The frost nipped at his fingertips as he touches the snow dusted ferns. His boots crunched across the icy white blanket and he couldn’t help but feel he was being watched. He stared up at the ominous looking castle, at the large blank windows, trying to find the eyes on him.

He ended up back in the kitchen after, warming his hands around a cup of sweet tea. He was laughing at Joe, who was polishing his brass torso with a napkin and steam when a dark shadow fell over the doorway and Butch, in his billowing black cloak, walked into the room.

“There you are,” Butch said, eyes falling to Patrick. “I came to inform you about a dinner party.”

“Oh, Joe told me about it,” Patrick said, sipping his tea. 

“Did he.” Butch’s eyes fell to Joe, encased in the dishcloth. “You won’t be needed. That’s what I came to tell you. Stay out of the way for everyone’s benefit.”

“Shall I wait for you in the bedroom, _master?_ ” Patrick said. There was a gasp, probably from the teapot watching from the dresser. He smirked at Butch, unafraid of the man’s temper anymore.

“Behave,” Butch said, darkly. “You’ll pay for your insolence.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Patrick pursed his lips together, pressed against the fine china cup as Butch swung out of the room, just as dramatically as he’d entered.

 

There was an air of bustling party preparation around the castle over the coming days. Patrick mostly stayed in the library where he wasn’t bothered, but Joe was too busy sorting out his fellow candlesticks to hang around with Patrick. He was stuck with the dullest, most chipped china mug as the rest were busy having the hottest, steamiest clean.

“I still don’t understand why you’re having this party,” Patrick was asking Butch on the night before the dinner party. They were sitting in vague companionship; sitting in front of the fire in two plush chairs. “It doesn’t sound like something you want.”

“It’s more a duty than anything else,” Butch said. Every few years the princes of all the kingdoms in the land meet to discuss. It used to be about politics, but now it’s a social thing,” Butch wiped his scabbed knuckles over his creased forehead, his chapped lips puckered. 

“Sounds boring. Why are you having it here?” Patrick asked again. It hadn’t happened here last year, Patrick was already enslaved a year ago.

“It changes host every year. I drew the short straw this year. It’ll just be a night of drunk princes getting rowdy before leaving again. I don’t like any of them, but it’s just a night.” He shrugged a heavy shoulder and looked over at Patrick. “Chances are they know about you, but I don’t want you around them. You stay in your library or your chambers until it’s over. I want your word.”

“Forbidden from leaving the castle and forbidden from being seen in the castle,” Patrick said, watching Butch’s reaction. He’d felt the side of his knuckles against his cheek before, but he wasn’t afraid of it any longer. 

“I can’t trust you to behave so I can’t have you wandering free in this house. You don’t want to anger me, Patrick.”

“I know.” Patrick nodded his head. He'd already lost his father and his freedom. He had little else precious to him. “I’ll stay away from everyone. I promise.”

 

The one thing Patrick still enjoyed doing was singing. He made up little ditties, and recited songs he remembered from his childhood. The pots and pans enjoyed it and sometimes Joe would hum along with him. 

He could hear the booming sound of male voices echoing around the castle, from the confines of his library walls. It reminded him of the thick atmosphere of late nights in the tavern. He was shy at first, growing up, but he’d soon learned to find his voice and that other people enjoined listening to him sing too. He’d spent nights singing and dancing on the bar of the tavern, catching the eye of the butcher’s son across the room. He touched his arms now, remembering how they’d broken out in goose pimples back then. 

He was far away from the dining room, where the spread was being put on, so he hummed to himself, singing songs that he’d sung back then. They were silly rhymes, old stories from long ago, but there was an aching comfort in the familiarity. 

Patrick was in the middle of a rising melody when he heard the creaking sound of the library door opening. He didn’t wait to see who it was before he ducked behind a heavy bookcase, watching the man walk into the room. Patrick peered from between dusty tomes of books to see a dark haired man, only a few inches taller than himself. He was peering into the room curiously, half distracted by the thousands of books lining the walls.

“I heard someone singing,” he said. Patrick cursed beneath his breath at himself. Stupid boy for singing, for doing the one thing that Butch told him not to. He crouched lower when the man approached, hoping he wouldn’t be spotted. “I can just about see you. Come out.”

“I can’t,” Patrick said. He wanted to, so badly. He hadn’t seen any other prince before and this one was infinitely more handsome than Butch had ever been. He crouched when he saw the man come even closer, so that his face was shadowed. 

“Why can’t I see you?” the prince asked. “Are you the one that didn’t break Butch’s curse?”

“You shouldn’t be in here,” Patrick said. His heart was racing, his knees pressed uncomfortably tight to the shelf below. The prince was trying his hardest to look at Patrick through the shadows before he shrugged a shoulder.

“I don’t mind not seeing your face. I only came in here because it’s such a drag out there. So much pomposity and port. I hate port.”

“It’s better with lemon,” Patrick said and then cringed. He’d never been very good with small talk. “I’ve only ever met one other prince before.”

“I wish I could say the same.” Patrick watched as the prince walked over to Patrick’s favorite chaise lounge and dropped heavily onto it. He stared up at the painted ceiling, appearing to not care that there was a strange person hidden behind a bookshelf. “I heard some sweet singing when I walked past. I was just about to leave for the night when I heard. I came to hear more. If you sing me another song I promise I won’t look at you.”

“That sounds dumb,” Patrick blurted out, and then cupped a hand over his mouth. He’d learned not to talk back to the one prince he’d known. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t sweat it,” Pete said, which was strange. Patrick hadn’t heard a phrase like it. “Wait. I’ve got an idea.” The prince bounced off from Patrick’s chaise lounge and hopped over to the corner near the large windows. He pulled an ornate curtain tie from the corner and then rushed back to the chair. “If I wear a blindfold you could sing like you were before and not behind the bookshelf.” 

“This is silly,” Patrick said, but he stood up straight and slowly walked sideways as the man wrapped the heavy fabric over his face. “Singing to a prince that can’t see my face.”

“Well, we both win this way, right? I’m Pete by the way. Pete Wentz.” The prince had a slow way of talking, even in his excitement. Patrick sat beside him, on the floor. It’s where he sat and sang during the times Butch asked to hear his voice. That was in the early days, when they were more tolerant of each other. 

“Prince Pete,” Patrick said and then laughed. He tried not to look at the prince splayed out on the sofa. He was smaller than Butch, and in smarter clothes too. He rested his hands in neat folds over his stomach, waiting calmly for Patrick to start.

Patrick started to sing, a quiet folk song from his childhood. He closed his eyes, so that he wasn’t looking at the handsome prince, so that he could pretend he was just alone in his large, extravagant library.

There was still the sound of cheering, laughing and cutlery clinking as Patrick sang, but he treated it like percussion. When he finally peeled his eyes open, midway through his third song, he looked over to see that Pete’s feet were twitching and bouncing to his song. 

“Come sit by me,” Pete said when Patrick’s throat dried out by the fifth song. He patted the space beside him and Patrick hesitated. “Come. I promise I can’t see. With a voice like that I need to feel you. Make sure you’re real. I’ve heard things about this castle.”

“My best friend is a candlestick,” Patrick laughed, but he stood up from his stiff knees and perched in the small space beside Pete. He stared down at the handsome prince, wondering how quickly he’d fall for him if he’d been captured by him instead. 

The prince, who had been laughing at Patrick’s comment, suddenly grabbed clumsily at Patrick’s arm, sliding his hand down until it wrapped around Patrick’s fingers. His grip was warm, but not too tight.

“Small hands, long fingers,” Pete said, vocalizing what he was feeling. “Pretty voice. You sound like a dreamboat.”

“I don’t know. I have a temper, and I drink a lot of tea. I’m grumpy in the mornings and I hate going outside. I’m not such a catch,” Patrick admitted. He hadn’t been flirted with in so long. It made him flush bright with heat. 

“Sing one final song?” Pete asked. And Patrick, who generally liked to answer back, couldn’t think of anything else to do but nod his head, even if the prince couldn’t see him. He did as he was told, singing a catchy ditty, using Pete’s hands to help keep a rhythm. The prince was smiling now, as Patrick sang, his own voice catching on a laugh. He sang through the final chorus, fingers curled over Pete’s hands, getting caught up in the moment. The prince sat up suddenly and pressed their lips together. Patrick stiffened at first, at the touch of lips against his own, and the heavy fabric pressing against his own forehead and the prince’s eyes. 

When Pete pulled away and flopped down onto his back again, Patrick chased the taste of his lips back. He rested a hand on Pete’s chest and pressed their lips together. He hadn’t kissed someone through choice in such a long time. Butch rarely kissed him anyway, but there’d been a few times at the beginning where they’d tried to force it. Pete’s lips were soft against his own, almost like they were smiling as he kissed back. His hands came to Patrick’s face, holding him, stroking his cheeks as they kissed. When they pulled apart they were both gasping for breath.

Patrick was daring and ambitious, even if he usually allowed it to simmer beneath a hazy complacency. A kiss from a prince was lovely, but he knew he could ask for more. He put his hand on the prince’s groin, to see what his reaction was.

“I’ve kissed a lot of royalty, but nothing like this,” Pete said laughing. “Let me see your face. Let me know your name before we go any further.”

“I can’t,” Patrick said, which was true. He wondered how many ways Butch would kill him if he found out about this, but decided he didn’t really care. “What would be the fun in that?”

“Okay, okay.” Pete was laughing, his hands touching the sides of Patrick’s face. He laughed even more as Patrick undid the fastening of his pants. “This is amazing.”

“I’m good at this part,” Patrick boasted, before sliding his mouth down over Prince Pete’s dick. He had had a lot of practice, and his last lover, the butcher’s son, had said there was nowhere else he’d rather be than root-deep inside Patrick’s mouth. 

The prince was doing his best to keep his moans down as Patrick teased and sucked him. He lapped at his balls and laughed with fake joy at the slurping sound of his own lips against the head of Pete’s cock. It was meaty and hot, the taste musky but so much better than what he'd had to endure the three times he'd gone down on Butch. Patrick had nipped deliberately hard on the third and final time and the requests for it had stopped coming. 

Patrick knew the telltale signs of a man that was about to come in his mouth. Pete’s body stiffened and his breathing tightened. Even his dick felt stiffer for a few seconds as Patrick slobbered over the shaft. Then he tasted the first salty flood of Pete’s come filling his mouth. He always spat when it came to Butch, but now he swallowed, moaning like he couldn’t get enough. 

“That was remarkable,” Pete said, when he had his breath back. Patrick was kneeling down by the side of the chaise lounge. His lips were swollen, and he could still taste Pete in his mouth. “I don’t suppose you’ll let me see your face now?”

“You know my singing voice and you know my mouth.” Patrick was desperately turned on. He wanted to get on the long couch with Pete, to curl up with him and be held and petted. “I would be in enough trouble already, if what just happened was found out.” He fell back down to earth again. He was just the beast’s whore, trapped in the forgotten castle. Pete was a handsome prince, deserving of a princess, or someone free. If anything, what he’d just done had cemented his role in the castle. “I have to leave, before this is found out.”

“You’ve made my night far more interesting,” Pete said. He was smiling, painting his thumb against the underside of Patrick’s bottom lip, blindfold still over his eyes. “I want to see you again.”

“That would be nice,” Patrick said, but then remembered things like this don’t happen more than once in a lifetime. He played along all the same, kissing the pad of Pete’s thumb before standing up. “Until we meet again, Prince Pete. Count to thirty seconds and then you can leave the room.”  
   
“One hippopotamus, two hippopotamus,” Pete started loudly, laughing brightly. Patrick smiled looking at the prince, laid out on his chaise lounge with the heavy banner over his eyes. He’d remember this night for the rest of his days, laid up in the castle of the man that had him trapped. 

 

By the time Pete was safely confined in the cheery palace of his own kingdom, he was already in dream land. His parents would be annoyed to discover he’d not spent the evening discussing plans to rescue the kingdom cursed with the sleeping sickness. Pete had been on track to wake the princess with a kiss and rule their kingdoms as one. But then he’d heard about the dragon guarding the castle and he backtracked quickly.

His parents had told him he had to go to the prince committee to find a prince that would break the curse. The sleeping kingdom was important to Pete’s county, they shared a busy port and bustling industry. Together they’d be stronger. But, again, cursed castles and guarding dragons weren’t worth anything in Pete’s mind. 

“I met someone amazing last night,” Pete was saying on his morning ride with his favorite footman, Andy. There’d been drama earlier in the morning, when he’d had to explain to his parents over breakfast his plan to discuss plans to rescue the sleeping prince had gone forgotten. His father had slammed a hand on his table and his mother had sighed with exasperation, like she hadn’t expected anything else. 

“Who did you see, sir?” Andy said, trotting behind Pete through the forest and the closest village. The villagers waved at him, offering up fruits and flowers. He waved back at them politely, looking to his guardsman with a bright smirk. 

“I saw no one of interest, truthfully,” Pete admitted. “But I heard the voice of an angel. A singing canary. A beautiful beautiful voice. He sung for me all night and kissed me some more. Fine hands.” He didn't mention the other thing the boy had done, because Pete was a gentleman prince, and also Andy had seen enough of Pete's past to expect it in any situation.

“You are something else,” Andy laughed, as they stopped to allow a withered, hooded old lady to cross their path. “Who was this canary? Not another kitchen maid.”

“More than a kitchen maid. Unfortunately, I think he’s the one that didn’t break Butch’s curse. The trapped boy. I don’t know who else it could be.”

“Sounds like a sideways step from a kitchen maid,” Andy teased. “There were plenty of other princes at the party that you could have fallen for, but you choose the one you can’t have. You don’t even know what he looks like.”

“Yes, but that voice...those lips against mine,” Pete winked at Andy, as the old lady finally cleared his path. He tugged the reins of his horse until he sped up into a gallop, listening to the sounds of Andy’s horse clipping the heels of his own. Of course, it wasn’t just the thought of the lips against his mouth that he thought about. The feel of them over his dick, the slick wetness of his mouth drinking him in, taking him down until Pete had climaxed inside him. Well, that was worthy of a thought or two too.

By the time they headed back into the large courtyard of the castle, the royal horses tethered up, Pete was already rationalizing things in his head. He had a bargaining tool to use, or the idea of one set up. He told it to Andy as they made their way to his royal chambers. 

“I’ll tell my parents to give me one chance. I’ll have a ball, everyone invited in the land, including servants. Butch will come, along with his boy, and I will see how we bond through eyesight rather than voice. If it feels right, as I know it will, I shall offer Butch some form of payment. Not in a grotesque way."

“It can’t not be grotesque when you’re discussing a human,” Andy said, but Pete shrugged. His favored guard could be so forward thinking at times. 

“I know, I know,” Pete admitted, pulling his riding boots off and falling onto one of the plush couches in his rooms. “But Butch thinks in different terms. Maybe I can pay the original witch to remove the curse. He can go back to brooding in a less vile looking way and I get to have his beloved.”

“Why would your parents go for this?”

“If Butch accepts my offer of his hostage, I will find an army to help me slay the dragon and find a willing prince to break the curse that has befallen the kingdom. If the proposal is turned down, then I will marry for who they want, and I guess, deal with the dragon issue.” The idea wasn’t one of great fun for Pete, who would probably marry Butch over dealing with the gigantic dragon. 

“Would your parents really allow it, though? You settling for a...well...you know what they consider the trapped boy in Butch’s castle,” Andy said, pointing out what was obvious. It had been huge gossip the year before, when Butch had taken the boy from the village and refused to allow him to leave, even when the curse hadn’t broken. 

“He doesn’t kiss like the whores from the village, I know that much,” Pete laughed. Flashes of his youth flooded behind his eyes, smuggling out of the castle with Andy beside him, under a coarse hood. His guard stayed close by, never drinking; making sure Pete stayed on the good side of mischief. “I will tell my mother the plan, and she as queen, will inform my father of what will happen. She loves to plan a ball, after all.”

In every story that contained a kindhearted but dimwitted Prince, a collection of castles, and a trapped, bitter love interest, there needed to be a villain. Brendon was more than happy to oblige to that role. He lived in a small cottage on the outskirts of Pete's village, where he could brew the sticky sweet poisons that sold for a pretty penny. When he did venture into the town it was with a drab hood over his head, and a buckled movement to his stature. Anyone that saw him, would think him a sweet little old lady. He had just the right enchantment spells to bewitch the entire village into seeing him differently.

What he wanted was to be out of his crooked cottage and ruling over the entire land. He had the magic in his blood to bewitch the kingdom into falling to his knees. All he needed was a prince to fall for him. Scrubbed up, away from the withered old lady of the town, he thought himself to be a handsome man. Dark hair and eyes, a fine collection of ornate suits. He would look good beside a prince, ruling with a firm, bewitching hand. He needed power, he craved power. And he’d get it.

He was walking back through the village, a basket of ingredients for a particularly deadly love potion, when he heard the sound of two galloping horses drawing to a slow halt. He crossed their path slowly, recognizing the royal emblem on the saddles. He listened as the prince of this kingdom talked loudly of his conquest the night before. Interesting. Brendon would pay attention, stick close by to the gossip circling the village; this may be his way to get onto the royal throne. This Princely Pete Wentz, was from the most powerful royal family in the land. The best choice.

 

Patrick hardly felt like anything could ever go wrong over the next few days. He sat opposite Butch during supper and ate his food in silence, thinking about Pete and how it felt being with him. He’d forgotten about love, and the way it sunk right through to the marrow of his bones. 

“You seem different,” Butch pointed out from the other side of the long table. He was as stern and sour as always, barking orders at the household objects that had once been staff. Patrick stayed out of his way, as he always did. Even when he was in his presence, it was different. He didn’t allow himself to feel the bitterness he usually did.

“Spring is around the corner,” Patrick shrugged, dropping his spoon into his bowl with a loud clatter. “Brings a dose of positivity, no?”

“It didn’t last year,” Butch said, but Patrick shrugged. Last spring Patrick had no hope of happiness ever finding his heart again.

“My my my, the bitter little stray is in love!” Joe was marching across Patrick’s bed in his chambers later that night. Butch hadn’t asked for him, so Patrick was happily tucked up, laughing at the candlestick’s flamboyant sashay across the bed, his tiny brass arms stretched out. “Something happened that night of the party. I was stuck lighting the middle of the table, but there was an empty spot in the gaming room. Or so I heard.”

“I met a prince named Pete,” Patrick admitted. He sat up and smiled at Joe. “He came into my library where I was singing. He never saw my face, but I sang to him all night, because he asked and then he kissed me and it felt like... I can’t say. It made it feel like I’ll never be sad again.” He didn’t mention what he’d done with his mouth after the kissing. That wasn’t for a candlestick to know about.

“I guess most people feel that way when they kiss princes...unless they get turned into frogs,” Joe winked. Patrick remembered that particular story. It had happened when he’d still lived with his father in the village. “I am your friend so I won’t tell you that a dalliance with another prince is a bad idea.”

“I don’t mind,” Patrick shrugged, the excitement dampening when he thought logically. “What would ever come from it? He won’t be back here and I’m forbidden from leaving. But it is nice to think about...and dream about. I suppose not all princes are like Butch.”

“Few are like him,” Joe said, his voice softening slightly. “I am sorry that this is your life, Patrick. You deserve more than to be here forever.”

“But now I have dreams I don’t mind,” Patrick said. It almost felt true. In fact, he felt so caught up in what had happened during the dinner party, that he now spent most of his days sitting in the library thinking back on his night with Pete, imagining how it would be if Pete had stolen him away from there. Patrick didn’t like the idea of being rescued, but if that was what it took to leave this castle, then he’d wait patiently.

 

Pete knew that the best way to set in motion the idea of the ball was to announce it in front of his younger sister when discussing it over breakfast. All he really had to say was the wish for a ball to combine all the kingdoms in the land, and watch his little sister’s eyes widen in excitement.

“A ball? We haven’t had one in forever!” she squealed, and then said something else that he couldn’t hear. He smiled sweetly at his mom, who pulled a face at his sly work.

“You want something from this, son?” she said coolly, her dainty crown perched onto her head. “Something that will annoy your father and I greatly.”

“I’ve found love, but it is complicated.” He explained things to her, in his usual way, plying her with fresh, sugar glazed pastries. She was a romantic like he was, and thus much easier to sway than his father. 

“You don’t know what he looks like?” she said curiously. He shrugged his shoulder, coyly.

“No, but I know what he sounds like. When I hear that voice... I know it’ll be him,” Pete touched at his chest, against the fine silks of his shirt. He could still hear the sweet tones of the songs, the unfamiliar rhymes and lullabies. And then the soft kisses, the way he’d felt beneath Pete’s hands. 

“If he makes you happy and you promise to deal with the sleeping curse in the adjacent castle, then I suppose, we are due a ball. One that includes servant’s could be a new take on things,” she said with excitement. He laughed along, nodded until sobering slightly.

“I think I’ll let you tell the king,” Pete said, laughing when she cringed at him.

 

Brendon heard the news three days later. He was hovering by the fish stall in the market courtyard, listening to the gossip filling the stone walls that he was hovering by. There was chatter, that had flooded from the servants working into the castle out into the streets of the marketplace.

_‘...a ball for all legible royals in the land,’_

_‘but the servants are invited too.’_

_‘odd...very odd.’_

_‘Maybe the prince has fallen in love at last.’_

Brendon pulled his cloak closer around himself, checking his hands to make sure they still looked as withered and shriveled as he always hoped in disguise. He stepped closer to the castle, near the path of the cobbled causeway. He knew someone, because everyone always knew someone. Or at least, everyone always knew someone with gossip that was willing to hand it over for a prize.

He plucked five gold rings from his pocket and handed them over to the equally withered looking lady. She worked in the palace kitchens, and occasionally spilled the beans when Brendon lightened the weight off his purse a little.

“The prince is in love. He met some servant or other at the annual prince meeting. Someone in the enchanted caste.”

“What enchanted castle?” Brendon asked. There were a few he could think of within walking distance from here.

“The one with the prince with the curse...the one with the rose and the curse of a vile beastly...”

“I know of who you speak.” Brendon made the link already. If Pete had fallen for anyone in Butch’s castle, then it had to be the village idiot he’d trapped nearly two years back. Brendon had done his research when he heard the news, the boy had traded his life for his hapless father, and then lost any attempt at freedom by refusing to fall for Butch’s anger drenched charms.

Still, it made sense. Refusing to fall for one prince, but seducing another one instead. Interesting indeed. Brendon liked the fool for doing such a thing, perhaps even he’d do the same.

Now though he had a plan. Brendon wanted the throne for himself and he wanted it as soon as possible. With the idea of a ball and a servant boy wasting away in an empty castle, well, Brendon had just the plan.

 

Patrick had never been in love before. Back in the village with the town folk and the handsome butcher’s son, that had just been a secret dalliance. Lust had been the covering for it, but he hadn’t ever envisioned themselves as a family. Things would fall apart. 

“Is Pete a good prince?” Patrick asked Joe, for probably the twelfth time that week. He wasn’t counting, but Joe was. He heard the tinny footsteps of Joe walking on the wooden floor, his eyes rolling in his waxy face. 

“They’re not really a murdering royal family. They’re just really rich," Joe said. “Friendly and charitable. They don’t start wars, they don’t starve the poor. Boring and happy.” That sounded fine to Patrick. Better than it could have been.

“Butch doesn’t have a kingdom. He just has a castle,” Patrick said, staring up at the ceiling in the library. 

“His kingdom was destroyed and abandoned when the curse was first felt. I don’t think he ever wanted to rule even before he was cursed. He was happy with his parties.”

“And now he’s miserable for an eternity,” Patrick finished. Sometimes he felt guilty about it, because he’d always tried to be kind. But empathy was hard when he was being forced to stay against his will.

Butch was shouting at the coat hook when Patrick made his way to the dining room. He made sure to creep past, so as not to disturb the argument. He sat in his usual spot at the opposite end of the table to Butch and took a careless glance over the menu as he waited.

Patrick was in the middle of complaining about the taste of the salty broth to the broomstick in the corner when Butch marched in. He stared at Patrick in stony silence before looking the other way. There was an ashy white over his broad shoulders. Dandruff, flaking with ease. It put Patrick even more off his food.

Patrick said nothing to him, not wanting to push his captor further into doing something he regretted. Now that he was in love with a nicer and much more handsome prince, he found it hard to even look at Butch without retching. He ate his soup and then the main course, ignoring the slurping and smattering of Butch’s mouth across the table.

As Patrick climbed into bed that night, he heard the tinny sound of Joe’s footsteps on the floor. His door was pushed open and Joe was so out of breath that his tiny candle extinguished on top of his head. Patrick rushed over with another candle and re-lit Joe’s fire as he caught his breath.

“There is a ball and we’re all invited!” he said with glee. “The most important part is that you’re invited.”

“Me?” Patrick frowned. He’d never ever been to a ball. They weren’t for the townsfolk, though he heard about them through gossip. How the castles were lit up with dancing, pretty women in large opulent dresses and more food and wine than the tavern would see in months. 

“The word between the castles is that Prince Pete has fallen in love with a servant boy who sings beautifully,” Joe said. “Sound familiar?”

“I’m not a _servant_.” Patrick pointed out, but Joe was rolling his eyes at him further.

“Details get lost in translation. Anyway, that doesn’t matter. What does matter is that there’s a ball and every royal household in the kingdom, and their staff, are invited. This is your chance.” Patrick felt hope bubble high in his chest. He’d been thinking about Pete, ever since their night in the library. Now could really be his chance.

“I get to go?” he said. Suddenly Butch’s worsening bad mood made sense. “I’ve been officially invited.”

“Yes. I kept your invite safe...Butch burned the rest in the fire,” Joe smiled his waxy smile. “You’re going to the ball, sunshine.”

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Patrick said, reaching for an empty vase just in time. He really was going to the ball.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick's night at the ball does not go as he'd hoped.

   
Patrick knew nothing of civil, royal behavior and that was his most pressing worry about the ball. Apparently, dancing was needed, with bowing and interchangeable royal titles. Joe was happy to teach Patrick in the library most days, when Butch was taking his daily stroll around the grounds. The dancing that Patrick knew how to do, which he honed in the taverns of his old village, was _not_ appropriate according to Joe.  
   
“Don’t shake hands unless it’s offered to you first. When Pete inevitably hears you sing and falls in love with you, watch out for stray warlocks and witches, there’s plenty around and they won’t want to lose power to a simple boy from the enchanted castle.  
   
“Do you think he’ll be mad?” Patrick whispered quietly. “That I’m not, uh, pure.” It wasn’t a thing that mattered in the village with the townsfolk, not really. But Butch had been livid to find out Patrick hadn’t been a virgin. In truth, he knew Pete would have an idea, after Patrick had offered up his mouth that time in the library. But that was different.  
   
“Hardly. One look at you and he’ll be in heaven, I’m sure,” Joe insisted. “Now, redo the steps I just taught you.”  
   
   
Patrick had a thorough bath the night of the ball. He was scrubbed from the back of his neck down to the soles of his feet until he felt pink and sore. All of the castle, bar Butch who didn’t know, was excited at the prospect of Patrick going to the ball. The sewing machine had worked with the wardrobe to make him a suit worthy of a ball. It wasn’t the smartest, he’d probably stand out, but he wore it with pride all the same.  
   
“You look amazing!” Joe crooned, drinking port from a thimble. “If I was human again I just might fight Prince Pete for you.”  
   
“You don’t even like men,” Patrick told him. The suit felt too long and a little baggy, but he felt almost presentable in it. “I hope I can sing okay tonight. How does it even work?”

“It’s called…karaoke…” Joe said, looking to the teapot, who nodded serenely. No one in the room had heard of it, including Patrick. “I think you all sing to him, at least, all that wish to present themselves. He’s adamant he’ll recognize the voice of his canary…or something.”  
   
“Where I’m from we don’t call each other canaries,” Patrick said, and then laughed. “I can wait to see him again. I feel that even if it doesn’t work out, seeing him would be good enough.”  
   
“Absolutely not,” Joe said, tossing the thimble into the abandoned bathtub. “You are not coming away from the night empty handed. All I ask is that you light up one of my comrades in honor of me when you move into the other palace.”

“If I was to ever leave this place I’d take you with me,” Patrick whispered to Joe, hoping the rest of the objects didn’t hear him. He couldn’t take them all with him. “Now, I suppose I need to convince Butch to let me leave.”  
   
He hadn’t exactly planned to not tell Butch, it was just so obvious that he would say no, that Patrick wanted to avoid it at all costs. He was hoping that under a strict curfew and maybe even a chauffeur (preferably Joe, the candlestick) he might be feeling generous.  
   
“You dare ask me that?” Butch said, from his dust-covered couch. He was in the furthest parlor from Patrick’s chambers, feet up on a snuffling stool and a large amber colored liquid in his hands. “What did you expect me to say?”

“But it’s just one night! And we were all invited. Everyone in this house was invited and that includes me,” Patrick said. He thought that if Butch allowed him out for just one night he’d be fully pleasant to Butch for a whole month; he’d sleep with him without passing judgment in any which way.  
   
“If the prince was looking for a marriage he is hardly going to pick you,” Butch said with a cruel laugh. He was staring at Patrick’s ill-fitted suit, piecing together what he saw. “The whore of my kingdom goes to no balls or parties. Go to bed, Patrick.”  
   
“If I was a whore I’d be paid for my duties,” Patrick said. He saw a fury light from behind Butch’s eyes, almost the color of his drink. He stood to his full height which was intimidating. He’d lost weight in the time Patrick had been in the castle, but he had unknown strength.  
   
“You do not speak to me in that manner,” Butch said, his knuckles catching the side of Patrick’s face. Before Patrick could drop to the floor from the strike, Butch pulled him up, dragging him across the dank cold hallways of the cursed castle. He wasn’t taking Patrick to his rooms, but rather up into the damp hollow cell in the highest tower of the castle.  
   
“Every day I am grateful for keeping you forever cursed!” Patrick said, as he was pushed into the cell. He stumbled and fell onto his knees, the flimsy fabric of the suit tearing. It was already ruined, torn at the elbow from where Butch had grabbed him.  
   
“You will stay here until I see fit to have you back in my sight,” Butch said and then spat, through the bars of the heavy cell. Patrick didn’t look at him, only dug his nails into the mossy, cold stone of the floor. He was crying, of course, but he didn’t make a sound, not even at the thought of not seeing Prince Pete after all.  
   
After what felt like hours of laying his cheek on the damp ground of the cell, Patrick heard the familiar lumbered clink of Joe’s candlestick feet. He smiled sadly to himself as the warm glow of Joe’s small shadow appeared.  
   
“Patrick, I’m sorry,” Joe said quietly, no tone of fun in his voice anymore. The warmth of his wick dried the sticky tears on Patrick’s face as he sat up.  
   
“I suppose I am to blame. Perhaps I should have asked a little nicer,” Patrick said, although he was certain that he only responded when Butch cut him with a mean comment. “It would have been nice to see the prince though.”  
   
“Butch won’t keep you up here too long, don’t worry,” Joe said, as if the only thing on Patrick’s mind was to leave the cell.  
   
“He might be a little bit right, though, about being a whore,” Patrick said softly. “When I was with Pete I didn’t just kiss his mouth.” Patrick was embarrassed to admit it, pressing the inside of his wrists against his face. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“I’m sure the prince didn’t mind, and if you liked it, then what’s the problem?”  
   
“It was much better than dealing with Butch,” Patrick admitted, with a small smile. “At least I have that memory I suppose.” Patrick sat there in silence with Joe for a while, admittedly thinking back on his time in the library with Pete.  
   
After a while he saw something slither into view. He jumped to his feet when he presumed it to be a snake; yellow with black markings. What a snake was doing in the tallest tower of an abandoned castle on a hill, Patrick didn’t know.  
   
“Joe, what is it?” Patrick hissed, hoping his candlestick of a friend was braver than he was. Joe’s brass feet made a dull clinking sound on the wet stone as it approached.  
   
“Oh,” Joe said, when he got closer. “It’s just a bewitched measuring tape. You’re not from here, are you?” He said softly, and then turned to Patrick. “I know all of the objects in this house, this isn’t one of us.”  
   
“Oh.” Patrick stepped closer, no longer afraid after knowing it wasn’t a snake. The tape flickered again as Patrick came closer, twisting in on itself until it spelled out an overly looped word.  
   
“Gabe? What’s a Gabe?” Patrick asked, to which Joe just shrugged his metal arms. Suddenly the measuring tape straightened as if a rigid ruler and the words _practically perfect_ appeared across it. Patrick raised his eyebrows some more and then shut his eyes as a flume of purple smoke filled the wet cell. When he opened his eyes a very tall man in a purple suit was standing in front of him, holding an incredibly large bag.  
   
“Hola,” he said, smiling when Patrick stumbled back to the furthest part of cell. He flattened himself to the wall and waited for his heart to leap right out of his chest. “No, don’t be afraid, I’m your fairy godmother, I mean father.”  
   
“What does that mean?” Patrick said, watching the tall man stride over to him. He felt a little bit sick, his head still thumping from where Butch had struck him.  
   
“It means that you’re going to the ball!” Gabe said. “I’ve been around. I was actually at the dinner party the night the princes all came for supper, bewitched as a fabulous flower arrangement.”  
   
“Okay,” Patrick said, not quite understanding. “And?”  
   
“And I was supposed to be part of the table arrangement, but was moved into the library before the guests arrived.” Oh. Patrick was vaguely horrified. This weird tape measure fairy godfather thing had seen it all. “I love true love. I love to see it thrive and you’re not thriving here, are you?”  
   
“Well, no. As a matter of fact, I was forced to stay here against my will.” Patrick thought to his father, now alone in the village where they’d lived before all this happened. “The beast locked me up when he found out I was going to the ball.”  
   
“Quite a pity really, under other circumstances love may have followed...” Gabe muttered before raising a hand. “But you’re going to the ball, Patrick. I’m here to help you. I get you spruced up, you get to wow the prince with that singing voice of yours and then BOOM. True love prevails and Butch will be forced to hand you over to Pete.”  
   
Patrick didn’t like the part where he was handed over like a trade deal, but he didn’t see what else he could do about things. “What if he doesn’t hand me over?”  
   
“Oh, he will. Prince Pete’s kingdom is the most powerful in the land, he holds the final say over all the others.” Gabe shrugged. “Now are you ready?”

“I’ll only do it if you change Joe into a human,” Patrick said suddenly, when Gabe stopped to rummage in his large bag. He pulled out a purple umbrella and pointed it at Patrick’s chest before frowning.  
   
“Joe! The footman turned candlestick. To undo the work of a witch’s curse is generally against protocol, but on this occasion yes yes, of course. I’ll have to change him when your feet hit the ground, or it’ll be awkward.”  
   
“Wait, what?” Patrick said, watching as Gabe plucked Joe from the ground, tossing him into Patrick’s hand. Joe, who hadn’t spoken since Gabe had turned into an actual human being, simple shrugged his shoulders once more.  
   
Between one second and another, Patrick felt as if his stomach had fallen out of his chest. He was floating, he realized, one hand holding onto a screaming Joe, and another holding the purple umbrella. He was no longer in the dank confines of the towered prison, but instead floating down onto the outskirts of a forest, the purple umbrella working as a parachute. As he looked down at the ground, with a nausea-induced feeling, he saw Gabe waving enthusiastically at him, heavy bag still at his feet.  
   
“Christ,” Patrick said, when his feet hit the floor and his knees followed suit. He retched once, but then swallowed down the feeling and stood on shaking feet.  
   
“I would suggest never returning to the enchanted castle.”  
   
“I’ll miss the library,” Patrick said. “Not Butch, though.”  
   
“I don’t suppose you would,” Gabe responded airily. “Now back to where we were.”  
   
He grabbed the umbrella laying on the floor and shot it once in Joe’s direction. Patrick watched as his friend, who he’d only ever known in candlestick form, suddenly grew and grew until a tall man stood beside him. He had a very large circle of curly hair atop his head and a singed aroma about his body.  
   
“You smell like you’re burning,” Patrick said, and then hugged him. Despite the general smell of singed hair, it felt amazing to feel the warmth of his friend at last. Much better than clasping a candlestick.  
   
“Yes, very nice,” Gabe said, interrupting Joe’s mumbled excitement at being human once more. “Back to the ball!”  
   
“Where are we?” Patrick asked instead. He squeezed Joe once more before letting go and looking at his very odd Fairy Godfather.  
   
“Just the other side of the Wentz palace. Through the trees for half a mile, don’t turn left.”  
   
“What’s left?” Joe asked, but Gabe was already rummaging in his bag again.  
   
“Clothes for you,” Gabe said, pulling out a modest suit for Joe. “And for you!” he pointed his umbrella at Patrick’s chest and suddenly his body felt hot and cold at once. Even his feet lifted from the ground as he did an impromptu twirl.  
   
“Nice,” Joe commented. Patrick looked down at himself and saw himself in a deep blue suit, a pair of neat brown shoes on his feet. Even his hands were covered, in a pair of sparkly fingerless gloves.  
   
“These would be better in black,” Patrick said, holding his hands up. Even in the moonlight they glittered.  
   
“Everyone needs a little sparkle in their life, Patrick,” Gabe insisted. “They’re a special gift from me. Be kind.”  
   
“I like them. Sorry.” Patrick dropped his hands down to his side. “So, what are the rules for tonight?”  
   
“There are no rules,” Gabe said brightly. “You go to the ball. You sing for the prince and he’ll pick you as his consort. You’ll be married in a week or so, I’m sure. Once the talks with Butch are over.”  
   
“It sounds so easy,” Patrick muttered. He rubbed at the side of his face and then flinched. He was bruised from Butch. “Could you heal my head? I don’t think the prince would think much to this.”  
   
“I’ll kiss it better!” Gabe said with a huge amount of gusto. He pressed a squeaky wet kiss to Patrick’s temple, and in only a few seconds Patrick felt the skin heal over.  
   
“Amazing,” Joe said, clearly at a loss for words now in human formation.  
   
“You guys are already fashionably late so you must get going. Now, remember straight on for a quarter of a mile, no left turn. If you ever need me just say the letters G A B E. Only you, Patrick, because technically I’m yours.”  
   
“Thank you,” Patrick said, watching Gabe step into his large bag. Patrick and Joe watched as Gabe disappeared, as if the bag was nothing but a large empty hole. Then in a puff of purple smoke even the bag disappeared from sight.  
   
“Life outside the enchanted castle is crazy,” Joe said. His voice sounded full and warm now that it was no longer coming from a waxy mouth. “Are you ready? The ball awaits its crowing jewel.”  
   
“The whore of Butch’s castle has come to collect his throne!” Patrick joked, putting his sparkly hand through Joe’s looped elbow and walking his way through the forest. They walked through the forest, just as instructed, turning neither left or right. As they got to the edge of the other side, they started to notice a warm glow and the sound of footsteps.  
   
At the top of a hill lived a castle, much like the one Patrick had been trapped in. This one, though, looked cheerful from a distance. Lights from candles lit up the pale stone, and Patrick and Joe followed the excitable crowd up the causeway leading to the mouth of the castle. The bottom of this castle housed a small village. The bottom of Butch’s was an endless forest festering with wolves and nasty creatures ready to pounce at every sound.  
   
They entered the ball without much interference. They simply mentioned being a part of Butch’s household and were nodded through. Patrick’s glittering fingerless gloves sparkled enough that many people mentioned them.   
   
Karaoke would be happening within the hour, or so they were informed, which gave them enough time to mingle. There was food flying past on different silver platters. At first, Joe told Patrick not to eat any, in case it was cursed with a poison, but when no one else was dropping dead, they presumed it safe for consumption.  
   
“I need to see those gloves!” Patrick’s heart jolted at the voice. He knew it anywhere, recognized it so well from his time in the library. He turned to see Prince Pete marching towards him. He looked like he was glowing, excitable from the attention. Patrick was near shaking in his lovely brown shoes.  
   
“Prince. Um, your highness,” Patrick frowned. He couldn’t remember the protocol that Joe had told him of. There was no protocol from the castle Patrick was from. “Hello.”  
   
“Hello.” Pete smiled at him warmly, but Patrick noticed in the warm look, that he didn’t remember Patrick from his speaking voice alone. He’d almost hoped Pete would have recognized him without him bursting into song.  
   
“Can I?” Pete held out his hand and Patrick was confused for a moment, before lifting his own hand and placing it in Pete's. Pete was gentle, holding Patrick’s wrist lightly as he plucked the glittering glove from Patrick’s hand. The moment the soft fabric slid off Patrick’s hand it suddenly dulled. No longer did it glitter when in Pete’s palm, but remained a sad mesh-textured black. “Oh wow.”

“I didn’t know it would do that,” Patrick said, in as much wonder as Pete. He had a sudden remembrance that there had been a moment when he’d taken Pete into his mouth. Where he’d tasted him on his tongue and down his throat. He was probably blushing, probably looked like someone with a silly little crush.  
   
“Where did you get these? They’re amazing,” Pete said, but then there was a jostle, a bustle in the grand entrance to the room they were standing in. Suddenly a group of rowdy men in overly decorated military uniforms marched over to Pete, pushing Patrick out of the way to talk at their friend.  
   
“He still has my glove!” Patrick said to Joe in frantic displeasure. He could hardly believe that the prince was allowing himself to be distracted and moved from the room. Patrick clearly hadn’t left much of an impression on him. “It only sparkles for me.”

“He’ll sparkle for you when he hears you sing,” Joe said. He frowned after and then shrugged, like he hadn’t realized it would come out as corny. “Let’s get drunk before the singing.”

Patrick suddenly found himself staring down at a platter with one solitary drink on it. He plucked it from the tray without thought and drank it down. The moment it hit the back of his throat it burned. He choked and spluttered, looking up in a hope to see the waiter that had sent the drink his way. He saw nothing but baffled amusement from the crowds closest to him.  
   
“Patrick…Patrick?” Joe touched his shoulder in concern. Patrick looked at him, at his burnt-smelling newly human friend. When he tried to call out his name nothing came out. He touched his throat and tried to force a sound. Nothing came out even as he tried to scream. Someone had stolen his voice from him. He wouldn’t be able to sing for Pete now.  
   
“A poisoned drink,” Someone said from beside them. Patrick looked at them panicked. “Someone must’ve wanted your voice to themselves.”  
   
Joe narrowed his eyes, arm still over his shoulder. “Patrick,” he said loudly, as if Patrick had lost his hearing as well as his voice. “I’m thinking someone’s deliberately cursed you.”  
   
“I know.” Patrick mouthed the words, repeating it twice before Joe understood.  He mouthed help me, but Joe looked around helpless.  
   
“We wait. We wait until karaoke starts and see who uses your voice.” Joe was looking around, trying desperately to see who stole Patrick’s voice, but whoever it was, was already lost to the crowd. “We’ll sort this out.”  
   
   
The most hilarious part of the whole situation to Brendon was he wasn’t even a bad singer himself. He might even have been able to emulate a voice like Patrick’s. _Patrick._ The word was filthy on his tongue, he didn’t like him, simply for the fact that he’d made the most legible prince in all the land fall in love with him simply by singing.  
   
Brendon had stolen Patrick’s voice with ease. He’d followed him for a while, watched him stare dreamily at their shared beloved. Pete had been staring at Patrick’s admittedly gloriously glittering fingerless gloves when their conversation had been broken up. Brendon had followed Patrick and his singed-hair smelling friend from the room, heard the discussion about wanting drinks and simply popped the cork on his voice stealing potion, poured it into a flute and handed it over to Patrick.  
   
Almost immediately he felt the power of an added voice beside his own. He rushed away before he was found out and spent a few minutes in an empty hallway trying out Patrick’s voice. He found it with ease, singing the song he’d been practicing. It was a folk song he’d stolen from another village. It sounded like something some pathetic townsfolk boy would sing.  
   
He queued along with everyone else for his own moment in front of the prince. It was like a contest, in a way, everyone stood there and watched, waiting and listening until Pete found his new lover.  
   
There was some appalling voices and some with a tone nicer than Patrick's, but Pete’s head wasn’t turned. He fiddled with something in his hand, a black mesh glove of some sorts. Maybe he’d been comparing it to Patrick’s sparkling ones. As Brendon looked over his shoulder he saw Patrick looking on. He was being held back by a guard, as if they suspected him of causing a disturbance.  
   
When it was finally Brendon’s turn to sing, he stepped up in front of the royal throne. Pete looked bored and miserable, like he was coming to the realization that maybe he wouldn’t find the whore of Butch’s castle.  
   
“Your Royal Highness,” Brendon said with a low bow. He watched as Pete’s eyes stared at him in slight interest before looking away. He closed his own eyes, took a breath, and found the sweetest tone in Patrick’s voice before singing.  
   
Before the song was up, Pete was up from the throne and his fingers were clasping to Brendon’s hands. He was shorter when not on his horse, which was disappointing, but he’d take what he could get. Brendon gave a small look over his shoulder to see if Patrick was watching. He was gone. That was also disappointing.  
   
“It’s you! I’ve found him!” Pete cried out, and then kissed Brendon's hand. He'd stuffed his mesh glove into his pocket now, and was clutching ahold of Brendon with love in his eyes. There was clapping and joyous cheers when Pete lifted Brendon's hand in the air. Even the queen looked on in surprising interest.  
   
“I must tell you something,” Brendon said, twenty minutes later, when Pete was insisting on time alone. They were walking the palace gardens in moonlight, Brendon’s arm linked through his own.  
   
“What is it?” Pete said eagerly, eyes a rapture with a look of love.  
   
“I’m afraid I haven’t been entirely honest. I’m not who you think I am. I’m not the captive boy from Butch’s castle. I’m just a pesky boy from a nearing village, hoping to steal some wine from the kitchens. I got stuck in the castle the night of the party... I got stuck where we met.”  
   
“In that amazing library? My my, you are a naughty boy,” Pete had a dirty laugh, patting Brendon’s hand. “So, you just pretended to be the trapped boy?”  
   
“Yes. I know if I was that boy you’d need to get Butch’s permission, but as I’m not that boy and didn’t have the right to be in the castle, I’d think it best we didn’t mention it.”  
   
“You’re right,” Pete said. He really was an idiot. “Probably a good idea you weren’t him considering what happened. Butch seems very territorial.”  
   
What happened in the library between Patrick and Pete, Brendon didn’t know. Instead he laughed coyly. When Pete asked to hear him sing again, he nodded his head. Another song, another lie. It wouldn’t be long before the kingdom was his.  
   
   
   
Patrick and Joe were unceremoniously dumped from the party as that wicked, nasty man sang so sweet with Patrick’s voice. Patrick couldn’t tell anyone the truth, and no one would believe Joe, whose hair had started to catch on fire every so often. Patrick would reach up every time he saw the smoking haze and pat away the fire.  
   
“We’ll find something… something to help us,” Joe insisted, as they walked back the way they’d come from.  
   
“He stole my voice, my one chance,” Patrick said, even though no voice came out. “Fuck every prince that ever existed. They all should rot in their castles.”  
   
“Hmm… left or right?” Joe asked as they reached the mouth of the forest. Gabe had only shown them how to get to the castle, not to leave it. Where they would go from here, Patrick didn’t know. They couldn’t go back to Butch’s, they were banished from Pete’s. Though Patrick never wanted to go back. His chest ached when he thought about it. He couldn’t even visit his father; when Butch found him missing, his father would be the first person in the line of interrogation.  
   
“He said don’t turn left,” Patrick said, aiming for right instead. Joe was a second behind him. This whole not speaking thing was getting old. He stared down at his glittering hand and sniffed. All he had from Pete was that one conversation where Pete hadn’t even recognized his speaking voice. True love did not exist.  
   
They’d taken a wrong turning, that much was obvious when they walked for over an hour and saw nothing but trees. Patrick was both heartbroken and tired. He had a sore throat from trying to scream and earache from listening to Joe attempt to make things better.  
   
“I wish I was back in Butch’s castle,” Patrick said. “I miss the trail of dandruff he left. I miss my library.”

“Oh look, a house!” Joe said in response, as if he hadn’t known Patrick had said a word. He looked to where Joe was pointing and saw a small cozy cottage through a clearing of the trees. It was the middle of the night, and yet it looked like it was glowing with warmth inside.  
   
“That is too cute to be true,” Patrick mouthed, but followed Joe toward it. As they got closer he realized it wasn’t a normal cottage. It was made of a spongy orange colored brick and adorned with bright jewels. The smell of sugar was intoxicating.  
   
“Not too much sugar for you,” Joe said, rushing toward it. He broke a striped candy from the thick white roof. “Remember the crash isn’t worth the high.”  
   
“That was once,” Patrick said, to his friend. He didn’t think it was fair to just eat someone’s house so just stood awkwardly, using the pretzel knocker to announce their arrival. Joe finished the candy cane and shoved a few jellied dots in his pocket before joining Patrick.  
   
“Go away!” Someone shouted from the other side of the door. Patrick looked to Joe, who shrugged. His hair was catching fire again. Patrick patted it out before it got into real flames. He knocked again and this time the door opened.  
   
Before Patrick could catch a look at who opened the door, he felt himself be pulled tight to Joe by a strange lasso. Around his waist was something thick and red, like those strawberry laces he used to steal from the sweet-shop as a child. They were pulled into the house by the edible bindings.  
   
Inside did not represent the same delicacies as outside. It was a charred, blackened house with sparse furniture. There was a room in the corner that was separated by thick metal bars, like an open cell. Patrick suddenly knew his terrible night was about to get a lot worse.  
   
“First you eat my house, then you knock after I’ve told you to go away?” There was a man standing in front of them, only a shade or so taller than Patrick. He was hidden in shadows though, face beneath a cloak. “What do you have to say?”  
   
“Someone stole my voice,” Patrick tried, but nothing came out. He nudged Joe from behind and shuffled until Joe was facing the man instead.  
   
“So, like. We were going to the ball, but an evil man stole Patrick’s voice to woo Prince Pete, and we caused a commotion so were kicked out. We got lost, found our way here. I was a candlestick six hours ago, so sorry about the smell.”  
   
“Oh, that’s you?” the man said, lighting up. “I’m Frank.”  
   
“Hi, Frank,” Joe said. “Sorry for interrupting you.”

“I’d make you suffer if you were children.”  
   
“Why?” Joe asked. Patrick, with his back to Frank and hidden by Joe’s broader stature, ducked his head, wiggled until the lasso was over his shoulders and started to eat his way out of it.  
   
“I’m not sure. It’s just my thing. Kids come to eat my house so I keep them here until they cry, fat with sorrow. It makes me feel better and then they’re traumatized for life and never come back here.”

“That’s no way to go about things,” Joe said softly. “I used to know a man as miserable as you and bringing pain to others didn’t make him any happier. Just ask Patrick. Or wait, don’t. Unless you can lipread.”  
   
“I can’t,” Frank said flatly. Patrick finally ate his way through the layers of strawberry laces and hopped around, until he was facing a startled Frank and Joe. “Amazing glove. Where’s the other one?”  
   
“Prince Pete has it. It only glitters for Patrick, though,” Joe said laughing. “Now, Frank. Are you gonna let us go? Please don’t make our evening any worse than it already is.”  
   
“I’m usually the villain in these things,” Frank said with narrowed eyes. He pulled his hood down and revealed a pale face with fine features. He could be a prince, or at the ball, maybe. Patrick didn’t know. “Did you say someone stole your voice?”  
   
“Poisoned cocktail,” Patrick mouthed, waiting for Joe to say exactly the same thing before Frank nodded.  
   
“Oh, that will be Brendon. He’s power hungry,” Frank said, as if he found the personality trait endearing. “Poisoned drinks are his thing.”  
   
“Do all villains have these weird quirks?” Joe asked, clearly forgetting the fact that he’d been living with his own villain for years; that he’s suffered beneath a curse for it.  
   
“Yeah. Sorry,” he shrugged. “I’m not sure what can be done to reverse the potion, but it will run out eventually. You just have to hope the prince doesn’t marry him before your time runs out.”  
   
“How long?” Joe asked. Patrick was half glad it wasn’t forever; half terrified Brendon would succeed in his plan.  
   
“A month maybe? I’m not sure. Not my area,” Frank said. He took a deep breath and then exhaled. “I haven’t had company in forever. Would you like a tea? Something to eat?” Joe turned to Patrick in bafflement as Frank puttered over to the blackened stove in the corner.  
   
“Even villains need company at times,” Patrick suggested to Joe, taking another bite out of the strawberry lace. Joe nodded his head like he understood what Patrick mouthed this time. Patrick presumed he was still clueless.  
   
   
Andy knew that something was amiss in the situation. He was Pete’s closest comrade and knew him better than anyone. Pete, he knew, was pretty terrible at anything relating to princely duties. He was kind and he knew how to throw a good party, but he also only held the party as an escape from rescuing the princess behind the angry dragon.  
   
“He isn’t quite how I imagined,” Pete said three nights after the ball. It was now two days into the wedding plans and things were moving ahead rather swiftly. Andy was anxious about the entire thing if he was honest.  
   
“How did you imagine it?” Andy asked cautiously.  
   
“He’s very assertive. He’s already talking about reupholstering the throne in our emblems. I’m not even king yet. But I love his voice and therefore I love him,” Pete said dreamily. He was sprawled on his bed, to the side sat a black mesh glove.  
   
“Is that his glove?” Andy asked, trying his hardest to get to the bottom of things. Pete twisted his head and stared at the glove.  
   
“No no…that was from someone else. They sparkled, you know, when they were on his hands. It stopped when I took it off and then…” Pete frowned. “I’m not sure what happened to him after that. He was pretty though. In that way some men are when dressed like he was. I suppose he may have been someone’s charm for the night, perhaps, with gloves like that.”  
   
There was always so much to filter through when talking to Prince Pete, but Andy had known him since they were both boys.  Presuming someone to be a rent boy simply for his expensive gloves was not the dumbest thing Pete had ever said.  
   
Andy knew lots of things about lots of people. One could even consider Andy worldly. Magical sparkling gloves weren’t just made for regular people, they were earned or gifted. This boy, who was not seen of since that moment, well, he just became a person of interest for the Prince's favorite guard.  
   
“With all this talk of weddings, I wonder if I could spare a day or so? To find someone to bring to the wedding,” Andy lied with grace. It was easy with someone like Pete and it was for his duty protecting the royal prince. Immediately Pete sat up and nodded his head enthusiastically.  
   
“Yes, my friend, yes!” He clutched at Andy’s back in a tight grip. “I must tell you something though…Brendon, he wasn’t really the whore of Butch's castle. He sneaked his way inside the night of the committee meeting and ended up in the library. I think that was why he hid his face from me, he must’ve thought I knew the true gem of the castle. Perhaps he thought we princes share.”  
   
“Enough, your Highness,” Andy said, watching as Pete’s face fell into a dirty tease. “I have your permission to leave?”  
   
“Absolutely. You must bring the prettiest lady to the wedding of the century!”  
   
 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andy sets out on his rescue mission as Pete falls tighter into Brendon's nefarious clutches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you like this final chapter :)

“Fuck every prince in every kingdom!” Patrick shouted his venomous voiceless ditty out loud as they traveled through the forest. It seemed never-ending, never reaching a village or town. He knew that the ball had been more than a few days ago. They’d left Frank’s gingerbread cottage with a basket of freshly baked bread, warm blankets and a promise from him that he’d try not to upset too many more children that came across his house. He just seemed very lonely.  
   
The second day of walking, they’d come across a man in a fur coat desperate to buy Patrick’s sparkling glove from him. He was insisting it’d make such a pretty dog collar as he stroked the spotted flank of his hairy coat.  
   
“You’re the wicked Way of the West Forest,” Joe said accusatory. He knew more about these things than Patrick. “You will not have his glove. It only sparkles for him anyway.”  
   
“I don’t believe you!” the man said, until Joe plucked the glove roughly from Patrick’s hand and held it up in its now dull black glory. The man clutched at his chest horrified.  
   
“It’s enchanted?” he said and then shook his head, shooing Joe and Patrick away. “Begone, I don’t need it.”  
   
“How weird,” Patrick said, when they rushed away.  
   
“Some people like to be organically evil without any enchantments. They consider magic bad luck,” Joe informed him, like he knew Patrick was confused. “Did you not know any of this in your town?”  
   
“One boy ate a sunflower seed and grew a flower from the top of his head,” Patrick said. Joe had been a quick study of lip reading in the last few days and started to laugh at Patrick so much that his hair caught fire again. They were near a lake, luckily, so he dunked his head until the flames were put out.  
   
Patrick had decided from that last meeting that he wasn’t going to be showing off his sparkly glove any longer. He kept it tucked in the inside pocket of his now rather raggedy suit. Every so often he tried mouthing G A B E like he was told to if he needed help but it didn’t work. He needed the sound to work for his rubbish Fairy Godfather to appear.  
   
They met three other strange people in the forest before finding the exit. One had chased them out of an empty lodge in a wolf mask. They’d thrown the stale bread rolls from Frank at it until he stopped. The other two, well they barely dared thinking about.  
   
“Townsfolk!” Patrick cried when they reached the edge of a bustling village. It wasn’t one that he knew, but it was more familiar than any castle could ever be. There were women washing their laundry at the local well, and fisherman selling their catches close to an inviting looking tavern.  
   
“I need a drink,” Joe said out loud, still smelling like singed hair and smoke. “Or maybe a few more.”  
   
   
Brendon loved a plan that came together with such ease. Every so often Pete would look at him in confusion like he almost thought Brendon a fraud, before his features would shift and he’d smile broadly at Brendon. All it usually took was a quick song in Patrick’s voice before Pete was completely back on side again. He had to top the voice up with his own special brewed potion. He told Pete he had strict allergies, had to drink his own concoction to keep him healthy for their wedding.  
   
“Voice of a canary,” Pete sighed softly, agreeing to equal ruling when it came to their partnership. Brendon watched his signature carefully on the end of the scroll, just so he knew how to forge it when the time came.  
   
“What will you do for me, my love?” Brendon asked softly, placing a hand over Pete’s. “As a wedding present.”  
   
“Anything!” Pete said with exuberance. It rung painfully in Brendon’s ear briefly. “A library perhaps that’s where I found you.”  
   
“I have no need for books,” Brendon said, rolling his shoulder. “That wasn’t my library remember? I was just hiding there.”  
   
“Oh yes, hiding in Butch’s castle. Should I invite him to the wedding, do you think? It’s custom to invite all royals in the land,” Pete said softly, pinching his nose as if the thoughts of planning such a thing gave him a huge headache.  
   
“He’s hideous beyond measure. We don’t want that at our beloved nuptials,” Brendon insisted. Pete murmured something about it not being the real Butch, but a curse, but Brendon started humming instead, bringing Pete under the spell of his voice once more.  
   
   
   
There was a room available for rent above the tavern and so Patrick and Joe quickly found themselves work at the bar to pay for it. Patrick was teased, a little bit, for not being able to speak, but he knew how to pour ale into a glass and send it shooting across the bar. He could also dance, which bought the customers in too.  
   
Joe, meanwhile, was having the time of his life. No longer encumbered in a  tiny brass candlestick, he flirted and danced with the ladies of the village, and even, on occasion, took them upstairs to their shared room. His hair always caught a flame at the moment of climax, according to gossip, but that didn’t seem to upset anyone.  
   
Patrick had his own admirers, who seemed to enjoy the fact that he was unable to speak. Skin like a milkmaid, they said. _Come spend time with me, Patrick!_ Patrick however did not spend time with anyone. After one prince that locked him up, and another that tossed him aside, he had no time or want for men. He wanted to do something fun with his life.  
   
“I have so many songs I want to sing,” Patrick said wistfully in bed to Joe. He smelt like stale ale and his feet hurt from dancing. He danced to make up for his lack of voice, but it was sore on his soles. “Songs about betrayal and death.”

“Yeah, you too. G’night,” Joe responded slowly, already half asleep. Patrick gave a loud silent sigh in annoyance before rolling over onto his side.  
 

 

Andy knew they didn’t have much time before things would change forever. Pete was a sweet man, but a terrible fool and he would most probably be married and thwarted in under two weeks. Andy wouldn’t allow the kingdom to fall so quickly.  
   
He rode quickly through the forest at the base of the castle. He stayed straight for a few seconds before halting his horse. He was dealing in idiocy and thus knew that Pete’s true love would not go the correct way. He turned right and rode for a few minutes, dismantling when he came across a house made of gingerbread. The roof was white and glistening, like hard frosting piped to perfection.  
   
A villain’s lair.  
   
Andy tethered his horse to a close tree and marched up to the door. He knocked three assertive times on the pretzel. There was a sound of shuffling, of footsteps behind the door before it opened. A dark haired, clearly nefarious looking man stared up at Andy.  
   
“Look, the rumors are not true. I don’t actually _eat_ them,” he said, with a heavy sigh. When Andy didn’t respond he paused. “Are you here about those weird men I tied up a few days back?”  
   
“Was one of them wearing a glittering glove?”  
   
“Yes! He was mute. The other one smelt like singed hair. Disgusting. We had a nice talk. Almost made me want to change my ways.” The man looked out into the distance, acting as if Andy had actually wanted to sit here and talk to him. “But once a villain, always a villain.”  
   
“The boy was mute?”  
   
“Yes.” The man looked at him. “There was a ball, a prince and a warlock that stole his voice. Brendon.”  
   
Andy frowned. “He knows about it? But why hasn’t he returned to the kingdom.”

“I sensed a lot of anger,” the man responded. “I mean, he was mute so there were no words, but his mouth moved a lot, like he had a lot to say.”

“Right.” Andy stroked the thick beard below his mouth. “And where are they now, then?”  
   
“Settled in a village no doubt. I baked them some cakes and sent them on their way.”  
   
“You bake?” Andy asked curiously. The house perhaps gave it away, but he never trusted villains that had hobbies past nefarious activity.  
   
“Sugar work is my crowning glory. Aside from scaring children into bringing me joy.” The man threw his head back and cackled. “I’m going to over prove my bread if I’m not careful. So, if that’s all.” Andy didn’t understand a word of that, but nodded his head. He marched back over to his horse, adjusting the royal pin on his chest. He was proud of his duty, to the kingdom and to Prince Pete.  
   
“You do know the quickest way to break a spell is through a true love's kiss,” the villain pointed out. Andy nodded his head. Of course, he knew that. Everyone did. “Just saying…you may need to get Patrick back to the castle quick, before Brendon’s plan falls into action.”  
   
“What way to the closest village?” Andy asked, mounting his horse and staring down at the house. It was lovely, really. But he feared it was encroaching on royal territory. It may have to be moved.  
   
“A mile back where you came from, then past the Wicked Way of the West Forest. He isn’t any bother, not really. It’s just a bad rep.” The man’s face fell, as if he too suffered from the same thing. Andy pushed it to the back of his mind. He had other things to think about, like saving the kingdom from it’s treacherous fate.  
   
   
   
Sometimes when Pete thought _really hard_ about things, he felt like there was something amiss. Brendon had the voice he remembered so well, but he was a touch more frosty than he’d been that time in the library. He didn’t like to touch or hold hands, he barely even liked to kiss.  
   
“I just thinking we should save it until our big day,” Brendon said, rejecting Pete every time.  
   
“Yes, yes. Of course.” Pete couldn’t help but think to their time in the library. That had gone way past a kiss. Then, perhaps Brendon felt ashamed about what he’d done, and wanted to come across different.  
   
“But maybe we should move the wedding forward,” Brendon said sweetly. “So as to reach the goal a little sooner.  
   
“I couldn’t do that,” Pete said. “The official royal rules are that we must give at least a month for preparation. For other kingdoms to respond and to get the palace ready. We have a lifetime to be together. I can wait a little longer.”

“Indeed.” Pete watched the grin on Brendon’s face pull a little tighter. “A song for my love?”  
   
   
Brendon was fuming. His potions were still keeping Patrick’s voice somewhere in his throat, but he was having to appease Pete so much that he was wearing it out. His voice was constantly sore and scratched. If they didn’t bring the wedding forward, everything would fall apart.  
   
Every morning he drank a full sip from the bottle of potion he kept by the side of his bed. He drank it down the same as any other, only this time his throat burned and then nothing. It was supposed to burn, that was par for the course, but something else was wrong. He felt Patrick’s voice fly away from his throat. He grabbed at the bottle and saw it wasn’t the one he put out the night before.  
   
He launched from the bed in fury. He stormed from room to room until he found Prince Pete, sprawled on the floor of his own chamber rooms.  
   
“What are you doing?” Brendon asked, briefly distracted. “Did you swap the drink by the side of my bed?”  
   
“I exercise every morning,” Pete offered up with a frown. He pulled himself up until he stood to attention. “I didn’t swap your drink, but I do know the servants enjoyed a good prank. They once swapped my water with wine, I fell off my horse and broke my arm.”  
   
That sounded less like a prank and more like a set of devious servants to Brendon's eye. No matter, the damage was already done. He pointed one magical finger at Pete and cursed him until he was tied up with invisible ropes.  
   
“What? My love. What?” Pete blinked, looking deeply confused.  
   
“I really think you ought to change your mind, Pete. I want to be married by nightfall. Moonlight is such a good color on me.”  
   
“You’re not the boy from the library?” Pete’s face fell. He tried to wiggle from the bindings, but Brendon just tightened them with another swirl of his finger.  
   
“No, but I will be married to you, and your kingdom will be under my rule.” Brendon paused, and then decided to follow the cliché of another villain. “Sleep. Sleep until I’m done.” He plucked a vial from the inside of his robe and marched over to the squirming prince. He squeezed his jaw until it opened and then laughed as the potion slipped past Pete’s lips.  
   
The prince’s eyes drooped and he fell to the floor in a deep sleep. His eyelids barely fluttered as Brendon slipped the bottle back inside his pocket. He shrugged and then looked at the sun sitting bright in the sky. He’d have the kingdom as his own by nightfall. He didn’t have much time to spare.  
   
   
Patrick had taken to taking strolls through the edge of the forest. Sometimes he picked fruit and flowers to put in the dark dusty room he shared with Joe above the tavern. He was in the middle of a silent song about being enslaved by an ugly prince, picking wildflowers, when he came over with a cough. It was early in the morning, still barely anyone around.  
   
He went back to his silent song and then scared both himself and the squirrel sitting opposite him. His voice had come back to him at long last. He cleared his throat and started to sing the song a little quieter. His voice was rough around the edges, as if it had been well used recently. He wondered briefly what it meant, that the man that had stolen it had lost it at long last.  
   
 He said goodbye to the squirrel, grabbed the flowers he’d been picking and rushed through the village until he was climbing the narrow staircase to the room above the tavern. Joe was still asleep on the bed, but Patrick hopped onto it beside him, poking his cheek. Joe groaned, batting at Patrick until he heard the sound of Patrick laughing beside him. Then his eyes widened and he sat up.  
   
“You’re laughing! I can hear it. Your voice!”  
   
“I’m back!” Patrick agreed, kicking his legs out.  “The curse has lifted and I’m free of the burden of silence. I think that calls for a celebration.”  
   
“Ooh, what kind?” Joe inquired. He looked as joyous as Patrick felt. It made Patrick feel something so bright inside, just as he had in the days leading up to the ball.  
   
“Singing. I’m going to be singing all day and night in the tavern. I’ve written lots of songs recently, in my head, where no one has heard me. I want to sing, I want to dance and I want to be with my best friend, who used to be a candlestick.”  
   
   
Brendon had the queen and king imprisoned before the hour was up. It was easy enough, get them panicked enough to see their son laying still and silent on the floor and then douse them with the same sleeping curse that had overtaken their son. Theirs wouldn’t last as long, he liked the idea of walking down to the dungeon later that night and seeing their pitiful faces look on as he stole their powerful positions from them.  
   
So, the king and queen were sleeping it off in the dungeons, and Pete had been moved by the servants into his bed. Brendon was staring at himself in a full length mirror. The world would be so much of a better place with him ruling the kingdom.  
   
   
“No man is worth the aggravation,” Patrick sang on top of the bar, later that afternoon. “He’s ancient history. Been there, done that.” Now that he had his voice back, and was singing a song he’d heard some years before, he was really enjoying the freedom he had.  
   
Living in this village was even better than the years before, where he had to hide his romance from his father. Life had gone greatly downhill after Butch, but Patrick paid no attention to him any longer. Then there was Pete. Patrick still felt something, but he was putting his experience with royal princes behind him as he continued the song.  
   
The heavy doors of the tavern opened when Patrick finished his song. He peered over curiously, as a man with a thick beard and strong look of perseverance approached.  
   
“Patrick, could you please get down from the bar,” he said in a quiet calm voice. Patrick absolutely did not want to get down from the bar and so simply crossed his arms over his stomach and shook his head. “It’s both worrying and good to hear you’re talking.”  
   
“I don’t do anything a man asks anymore,” he said calmly. He saw Joe’s head pop up curiously, a tankard in his hand. “Apart from Joe. But he used to be a candlestick so I’m not sure it counts.”  
   
“I half count,” Joe said. “What are we talking about? Who are you?”  
   
“He’s trying to get me to come down from the bar,” Patrick said. “But like I just mentioned, now that I have a voice…wait how do you know I lost it?”  
   
“I’m here from the royal palace. Something evil is brewing. Now that you have your voice back I’m worried for the prince,” the man said. Patrick still stared at him from his place on the bar.  
   
“Perhaps the prince deserves to have his heart shook up. He didn’t recognize me when I was standing in front of him, talking to him.” Patrick was suddenly aware of just how annoyed he was at Pete for not realizing. The stealing of his voice was shitty. He was hurt by both things.  
   
“I stand by Prince Pete with honor and nobility,” the man said, putting a hand on his chest. Patrick looked to Joe awkwardly. “But he is not known for his brains. He remembers your singing voice with clarity. He’s almost bewitched by it. Whenever he thinks Brendon to be a fraud, all Brendon does is sing and he’s under his spell. He loves you, and by the venomous tone of hurt in your current singing voice, I think you love him too.”  
   
“I wished I had that affect on Butch. To sing him to delightfulness would have been far more fun than what I ended up with.”  
   
“He does love him,” Joe said, betraying Patrick like everyone else. Instead of shying away from Patrick’s furious glance, he held out a hand, to help Patrick down from the bar.  
   
“Even if I did love the prince, I don’t think I could ever live in a castle again. Not even one with a library like Butch’s,” Patrick admitted softly.  He watched the loyal guard nod in understanding.  
   
“I understand you have been through a lot and while no castle contains a library such as Butch’s, you will soon realize that not all castles are like the one you came from.”  
   
“I’m also in an anti-man – particularly – anti prince, mood as of this moment,” Patrick said. He was about to burst back into the song that he’d just finished singing when Joe put a firm finger to his lips.  
   
“Patrick,” he said. “We did not go on this adventure to finish it like this. You must go to the prince. You must save him and finally win him over.”  
   
“I don’t want to give it to him that easy,” Patrick whispered back. “He broke my heart. Some of it.”  
   
“You can punish him as you wish, once you are together,” the guard said. He put a frantic hand on Patrick’s wrist. “But really, you must come now.”  
   
   
   
Patrick only agreed to come once a horse had been found for Joe. He was not going anywhere without his good friend. Patrick had a great time, if he was being honest, with a strong guard behind him on a horse. He could swoon, if he wasn’t so anti-man. Plus, he did have a prince to rescue.  
   
“Perhaps I fell for the wrong man!” he teased, watching the orange beard clash with the sudden red of the guard’s cheeks.  
   
There was a strange silence when they turned up at the Wentz palace. Patrick stayed close to the heels of the guard as they walked into the castle. In the distance, he was certain he heard a cackle. Every servant they came across looked both busy and distraught.  
   
“What has happened?” the guard said, pausing to talk to a maid walking with her head bowed. She looked up and stared at them with large sad eyes.  
   
“An evil mastermind has overthrown the House of Wentz! If the spell isn’t broken by midnight, they all fall to their deaths and he will take power.” Patrick grimaced at Joe when the maid spoke. It didn’t sound like great news to his ears. He was irritated with the prince, but he didn’t want him dead.  “Pete is in a deep sleep. He won’t awake.”  
   
“No worries. We’ve come to sort things out.” The guard looked at Patrick and then gestured for him to follow closely. “Come, Patrick. This way.”  
   
Patrick followed the guard across the plush carpeted hallways, twisting around golden staircases until they were outside an overly arched and decorated doorway. Patrick’s door in Butch’s castle was made of a damp wood; it creaked when opened and swelled during the colder months. This was something else.  
   
When they opened the door, the prince was laid out on the bed, hands cross over his chest like he was dead. Patrick rushed over to him, to see whether he was still breathing. He was. And snoring lightly. Patrick clutched at the prince’s hands and looked up at the guard and Joe.  
   
“What do we do now?” he asked desperately. The sound of cackling was still echoing eerily around the castle. It made Patrick’s heart pick up speed. He tightened his fingers around Pete’s, his one glittering glove against the dark skin of Pete’s hand.  
   
“There is only one thing for it,” the guard said seriously. “You have to kiss him.”

“Oh yeah,” Joe said, agreeing. Patrick looked up at him horrified. “True loves first kiss.”

“I think not,” Patrick said, removing his hands from Pete’s and standing back. “I’m not using any part of my body to bring a man back to life. Particularly one that hurt me.”  
   
“You have a point,” Joe said softly. “But also, once he’s alive again you can be as mean to him as you like.”  
   
“I’m not doing it,” Patrick said, crossing his arms. He felt a little guilty when he saw the guard look stricken. But Patrick was firm in his conviction, even if deep down, he would like to kiss the prince some more. “It’s his own idiot fault for getting into this.”  
   
“Yeah…” Joe paused, like he wasn’t sure whose side to pick anymore. As the guard started to pace around the room, Joe’s eyes suddenly lit up. “Oh, I know! Call for your Fairy Godfather.”  
   
“G-A-B-E,” Patrick shouted. In a plume of dramatic smoke, a large, familiar bag appeared. Then it unclasped and a head popped up, then an extraordinarily tall body. Patrick was both horrified and relieved that it worked. “You are in big trouble, Gabe. You have ruined my life!”  
   
“Ruined it?” he cried. “I was wondering where my wedding invitation was. Has something terrible happened?”  
   
“Who is this man?” the guard cried, looking close to tears. His red face was looking from Pete, to the tall wizard, to the purple bag he’d appeared from. “What is happening?”  
   
“A warlock stole my voice at the ball and used it to woo the prince. I left and took a wrong turn. We met a villain in a gingerbread castle and the wicked Way of the West Forest. Then we lived in a tavern for a week. Or maybe two, I can’t remember.”  
   
“Five days,” the guard said. the only one who’d kept tabs on the time. “He won’t kiss the prince so he won’t wake up.”  
   
“Sha la la la…. You gotta kiss the boy,” Gabe crooned at Patrick, who crossed his arms and stamped his foot, to prove his point.  
   
“You turned Joe back into a human,” Patrick said. Not very well, considering the singed aroma his friend carried around, and the tendency to catch fire. “Bring him back to life and I might consider a courtship… _if_ he apologizes.”  
   
“I can do that. Leave it in my capable hands.” Gabe swanned over to the prince, silent in his sleeping stupor. He breathed a purple glitter over him. Patrick, along with Joe and the guard, crowded around the base of the extravagant bed.  
   
Pete’s face crumpled up as the purple glitter turned to a wet liquid against his face, before soaking in. His eyes blinked a few times in confusion, before he looked around at all of them staring down at him.  
   
“What is going on? Where is that fiend. Andy? Oh Andy!” Pete looked brightly to his guard and then nervously at everyone else. “Who are all these strange men?”  
   
“Wonderful,” Patrick said, humiliated once more. He stomped over to a red lush couch in the corner and sat on it as the guard called Andy explained what had happened. He could hear Joe attempting quiet small talk at Gabe, who was shouting his own responses back. Patrick stared at his one glittering gloved hand and wondered when his life had become quite so odd.  
   
   
   
Pete was _very_ confused. He’d had an inkling every so often about Brendon not seeming to be who he appeared. But then he’d start singing for Pete and his insides would turn to liquid gold. By that point, Pete could do nothing but fall for him.  
   
“But why?” he asked Andy in frustration. The sleeping potion had left a cloudy haze over his brain. He didn’t know what was happening.  
   
“Because he’s villainous and that’s what they do. I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but you really ought to do something about it.”  
   
“Yes, yes I should.” Pete frowned. “How?”  
   
“We’ve never defeated a warlock before,” Andy said, which was true. Pete, truthfully, had rarely defeated anyone. But he had employed Andy to do so. Seeing his guard so perplexed was frustrating.  
   
“You know, I’m not just good at love.” The tallest man in the room said, in a chirpy bellow. “I can help.”  
   
“How?” Pete asked. In the corner, he could see a small, attractive man scowling, another with wild curly hair looking confused beside him.  
   
“Douse the ego, of course! I’m not one for turning warlocks into worms and so forth. Removal of powers is easy enough.”  
   
“He stole my voice!” the small man from the corner said. As he stepped closer, Pete couldn’t help but be astounded by both his large round eyes and the glittering glove on his hand.  
   
“Oh, it’s you!” Pete said brightly. The man scoffed, not looking impressed.  
   
“You remember me _now_ , then?”  
   
“You were at the ball,” Pete said, aware of everyone’s eyes on him. “You had the lovely gloves. I have the other one.”  
   
“Yes. You stole it from me like that Brendon stole my voice. I was robbed of everything that night,” the man said, with just the type of melodrama that Pete found exciting.  
   
“Brendon stole your voice?” Pete frowned, and then things maybe started to make sense in his head. “You… you were the boy in the library.”  
   
“I was, but I’m not anymore. Now I’m the boy that lives with his ex candlestick above a tavern,” the man said back, crossing his arms over his stomach. Pete was very confused.  
   
Pete had pressing matters, far more pressing matters than dealing with the boy with the voice and the gloves, or something. They had Brendon to deal with. His head was still reeling though, from what he was thinking.  
   
He was marching through his palace, Andy one side of him, Gabe the other. Gabe was Patrick’s fairy godfather, apparently. He was very strange. But he had powers so Pete didn’t mock him or anything. They followed the sound of the constant cackling until they were in the great hall.  
   
Brendon was sprawled across the King’s thrown, a crown perched over his forehead. He at first looked shocked to see Pete alive and standing in front of him before he shrugged a shoulder and bellowed a laugh.  
   
“Oh, you’re alive. That’s unexpected.”  
   
“Tell me what happened,” Pete responded. He still found his head clouding over with frustration. He felt weak, if he was being honest. “What have you done? Why have you done this?”  
   
“I’m a wicked man, Prince Pete. And I love it.” Brendon hopped up from the throne and marched over to him. “I heard you were in love with a man with a voice of an angel. So, I stole it. We would have married quite happily until your stupid servants decided to pull a trick on me. You were supposed to be sleeping until my powers were strong enough to truly take over at midnight. But now—”  
   
“Oh, will you shut up.” There was a sound from the doorway. Patrick and the candlestick humanoid friend (Pete still wasn’t sure on that) marched into the room. Patrick gave a quick glance to Pete before standing beside him, opposite the evil warlock.  
   
“Patrick! The boy with the voice like an angel and the mouth like a whore!” Brendon said, laughing as if he found the entire thing hilarious. Pete knew it was going to happen, and yet he still wasn’t quite sure whether it was real when he saw Patrick spring up onto the tips of his toes and throw his knuckles into Brendon’s jaw.  
   
Brendon stumbled back clutching his face, but then Joe, the candlestick, punched him too. Gabe started to cry out, about the necklace around Brendon’s neck, while staying as far away from the violence as possible. Pete grasped for Patrick’s glittering hand, holding him back while everyone else got caught up. Andy was the one to go for Brendon’s throat, tugging a string necklace roughly until it was in his hand.  
   
“Oh, fascinating,” Gabe said, taking it from Andy, who took it upon himself to restrain Brendon on the floor. Pete looked over curiously at the fairy godfather, holding up a vial of red liquid. “This is black magic. He was charging it up to release his dark power on the kingdom afterwards.”  
   
“I would have got away with it,” Brendon cursed. He hissed at Patrick, who laughed nervously. His hand was still in Pete’s. Pete squeezed it lightly.  
   
“What does that mean?” Patrick asked in confusion, as Andy and Joe whisked Brendon away to the cells of the castle.  
   
“I’m not sure if I’m being honest,” Gabe shrugged. “But it looks like a vial of black magic so it must be a vial of black magic. No matter. I shall keep hold of this is. What are you going to do about Brendon?”  
   
“I’m not sure,” Pete said. Defeating him had happened rather easily. It didn’t seem right. “I will talk to Andy and my parents…where are my parents?”  
   
“Bewitched with the sleeping curse, I think,” Gabe said. “Shall I go and wake them up and leave the love birds to it?”  
   
“We’re not love birds,” Patrick said, dropping Pete’s hand and looking cross again. Gabe turned himself into a purple bird and then flew from the room. Pete rubbed at his forehead.  
   
“You don’t care for me then, Patrick? Even after what we shared alone in the library?” he asked. Patrick scoffed, walking over to the throne Brendon had previously been sprawled in and sitting in it with a soft look on his face.  
   
“That night was the best night of my life,” Patrick admitted softly. “It was the best part of being locked up in that castle by Butch. Even now, I think I wouldn’t trade what happened to me so long as that happened. Then, I spoke to you at the ball and you didn’t even notice me. And then Brendon stole my voice and you didn’t realize. Even your guard realized.”  
   
“I’m not known for being a wise prince,” Pete admitted. “But your voice was electric that night. I don’t think you even know what it does to me. It’s like magic. It turns my head like nothing else.”  
   
“It turned you away from me that night,” Patrick said. “And I don’t like my role in any of this. I was thrown out of the castle and yet I was the one that was forced to come back to rescue you. I was the one expected to kiss you back to life.”  
   
“It didn’t feel right with him. You should know that, Patrick. Even with your voice turning me in his direction, it wasn’t like it was that night in the library.”  
   
“I suppose that’s because he didn’t put his mouth on you like I did,” Patrick said and then laughed. Pete joined him, and then dropped down onto his knees, in front of Patrick, clasping at his hand.  
   
“These are your hands, I remember them,” Pete said. He shut his eyes now and stroked the long length of Patrick’s thin fingers, over the bump in his wrist. Patrick’s fingers tightened, as if he’d finally softened. “I remember you, Patrick. Past the voice.”  
   
Pete proposed five minutes later, using the glove he’d taken from Patrick at the ball as his offering. Patrick laughed so hard that the fuzziness from the sleeping potion was finally cleared from Pete’s head. Pete was humiliated at first, but then Patrick kissed him and put his one sparkling hand over Pete’s groin. That made the rejection a little better to handle.  
   
   
Patrick left the castle later that night, for his room above the tavern. He’d kissed Pete goodbye and told him where to find him. Pete had pressing matters at hand, such as dealing with the warlock that had nearly overthrown him, and two increasingly horrified parents. They said no more parties. That an arranged marriage had to be fixed. Patrick was not allowed to step one foot in the castle.  
   
Patrick wanted to get a paying job at the tavern, but Pete wouldn’t allow him. He said they couldn’t marry if he did. Patrick said he’d rejected the proposal, but Pete had winked, ignoring his parents demands. Patrick sang in the bar at night and wrote songs with Joe about their experiences in and out of castles. Every so often, Patrick would see a purple bird siting on the ledge of his window sill. He blew a kiss, knowing it to be Gabe, before going back to his duties.  
   
One time, seven months after the debacle in the castle, Pete was visiting Patrick in the room above the tavern. He didn’t share it with Joe any longer as Joe had moved in with a lady friend who loved his fire catching hair and singed aroma. They still saw each other every day, but Patrick still missed him.  
   
“I have good news,” Pete was saying, looking at Patrick warmly. “There is an opening in the household staff.”  
   
“I’m not working for you,” Patrick said with disgust. He was, at that very moment, wearing nothing but the glittering gloves, riding the prince, who was still fully dressed.  
   
“I know…” Pete kissed the inside of Patrick’s wrist, just above the fingerless gloves. He was an odd prince, in that he liked Patrick to wear nothing but the gloves at times like this. Patrick didn’t complain. In fact, it was one of the few things he didn’t complain about. “But I feel it’s the only way you’ll move into the castle.”  
   
Patrick had told Pete not long after their first tryst (in the forest, against a tree) that he could never see himself living happily inside a castle, not after his previous experience. Pete had been crestfallen but surprisingly okay about it. He understood, or said it wasn’t worth the argument so long as they could be together.  
   
“Have I told you that we’ve finally decided what to do with Brendon?” Pete asked, when he’d come. Patrick could feel it trickling down his legs as he lifted and fell onto the bed beside him. He looked at the prince, shaking his head. “Well, there was still the situation with the princess that needs rescuing. We’re sending him, without his powers, to fight the dragon.”  
   
“What of the princess?” Patrick said, worried for her safety. Pete’s parents hadn’t been impressed with Pete’s determination to continue seeing Patrick, which was why Patrick was technically banned from entering the palace gates. Too much drama had passed through the royal household recently, and they wanted to bring things back up to the standard required of the most powerful Prince in the land.  
   
“Unfortunately, my parents are expecting me to extend my hand in marriage,” Pete said darkly. He sat up and rolled closer, until he was stroking his hand over the bare skin of Patrick’s belly.  
   
“I suppose I’ll have come full circle, back to being a prince’s whore,” Patrick said, with dampening disappointment. “I had my moment in the sun.”  
   
“You will never be that to me.” Pete kissed Patrick’s skin.  
   
“Only to everyone else,” Patrick mused aloud. “At least we are together. On my terms, not yours.”  
   
   
   
“Do you like him?” Pete asked Andy when he was back in the confines of his palace. It would be a much more interesting place with Patrick in it. He’d argue with everyone and tease Pete in the best ways. It made him sad knowing that not only Patrick wasn’t allowed in, but that he didn’t really want to be there either.  
   
“Patrick?” he could see the twitch on the corner of his friend’s lips, as if he was trying not to smile. “Remember your sister’s kitten before it ran away? The fluffy white one that scratched everything in sight, but purred late at night, when you allowed it into your chambers?”  
   
“Yes.” Pete smiled warmly. Patrick was just like that. When the comparison faded, so did his happiness. “We love each other. We’re as good as betrothed. He flirts terribly in front of me, but that just makes my passions harder for him.”  
   
“That’s…nice.” Andy paused, like he was hesitating to say the rest. “Would you say your parents were as angry at you as they’ve ever been?”

“I think so. Though as I’m the heir and not truly wicked, I know they’ll let me get away with anything.”

“Then, perhaps you can do anything you wanted,” Andy said, putting the idea out there. Pete latched onto it with a bellow of joy. Yes…yes.  
   
   
Pete let everything happen on Patrick’s terms. He would marry Pete, but he wouldn’t move into the castle. Pete found a lovely lodge on the grounds of the castle, just past the rose garden that bloomed heady with pastel delights in the summer. It was technically part of the palace grounds, but Patrick had the freedom to head to his favored village whenever he liked. Pete was also comfortable. On the nights where Patrick hated him, which he knew there would be many, he could crawl back into his four-poster bed, in his sumptuously decorated chambers. He had the best of both words.  
   
Patrick’s other demand was that Frank, the odd villain in the gingerbread house, created the wedding cake. “I won’t eat anything anyone else makes,” Patrick said. “He was nice to me. He just needed a friend.”

“But what if he poisons everyone?” Pete asked, hesitantly. Sometimes he worried that whenever they’d argue, that Patrick would start singing to him, to make him fall in line, but he never did that. Patrick was organic in his argumentative state.  
   
“Poisons aren’t his things. He just likes to make kids cry, but I don’t think he’s doing that. Please, take a chance on him. Take a chance on him, like I did with you.”  
   
“Or I did with you,” Pete said. Technically, he still hadn’t told his parents, but he’d already lined up a prince that was willing to kiss the princess sleeping behind the dragon-guarded castle. Andy had agreed to help on the rescue mission.  
   
“Can I still sing and dance in the tavern after our marriage?” Patrick asked, on their final night in the room above the pub. Tomorrow they’d be married, by Gabe, who had the license, and had been living as a purple rose in the rose garden outside their new cottage. Patrick was only slightly concerned. Joe would be there too, like he had been through everything else.  
   
“I suppose so,” Pete agreed. “But you must be mean to any man that flirts with you.”  
   
“I always am,” Patrick agreed. He looked at the prince, sitting on the small bed, in his dazzling royal uniform. “Will I have to be involved in any royal activities?”  
   
“You will have to watch some things. Like archery and jousting. You must make me feel like the best before every match I partake in because really, I’m not very good. But you mustn’t dance, Patrick. You mustn’t ever dance in front of the King and Queen. I fear they may faint in shock.”

Patrick laughed, deep into his chest. “I don’t suppose I’m very civilized in that respect.”

“You are not,” Pete said, low on a tease. He teased Patrick too, when he knew he could get away with it. “But that is perhaps the best part about you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It will be back to my normal angst now this is out of my system lmao


End file.
